


All the King's Men

by Lhugy_for_short



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hacker!Prompto, Insomnia Falls, M/M, Stuff idk look i'm drunk okay, dystopian au, prompto pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: For Promptio Week 6/2018 - Day 2 "Lost and Found" I think the connection will make sense by the end but who knows





	All the King's Men

**Author's Note:**

> For Promptio Week 6/2018 - Day 2 "Lost and Found" I think the connection will make sense by the end but who knows

 

The darkened streets are devoid of both light and life. Empty, abandoned; it’s the same scene every night, for the people of Insomnia wouldn’t dare go out after curfew. 

Well, most of them, that is. Prompto Argentum isn’t technically from the Crown City, and so he’s never been a fan of the king’s oppressive laws. Breaking them is risky, of course. But he’s also snuck out enough times to know where the real danger lies; not in the stories fed to the people through their televisions - stories of monsters, of demons that prowl in the shadows after dusk - but in dissent. In _daring to resist._

The punishment for rule-breaking is severe. No one in the city is safe from the “King’s men,” the black-cloaked enforcers better known as the Glaives. Prompto’s seen them up close and personal, knows they’re far scarier than the bullshit fantasies everyone else seems to believe. And he also knows that once someone is taken away in one of their dark patrol vehicles, they never,  _ ever _ come back. 

_ Protection. Peace _ . More lies the false king feeds the people from his stolen throne. Lies that Prompto is determined to expose, and in doing so set the city of Insomnia free once more. It’s why he risks his life like this, slinking through the shadows under cover of night with his antique - and contraband - camera. Why he talks to no one in the city but those few friends he’s learned he can trust: Gladiolus Amicitia, son of the Shield of the last King, back before the Fall; and Ignis Scientia, who served at the Citadel when he was a child, and one of only two survivors from that fateful night when the Usurper came for the throne.  

It’s because of Ignis that a single glimmer of hope, however faint, still lingers within Insomnia’s walls.  _ Noctis Lucis Caelum _ , the only child of the late King Regis, and the true heir to what’s left of the kingdom. Noct is the key, the final piece to the puzzle they’ve spent years building in the darkness of night. And at last, he’s almost ready to reclaim his rightful place beneath the Crystal; all that’s left is to clear him a path to the top. 

Sudden movement up ahead in the street catches Prompto’s attention. Carefully, quietly, he slips around the corner of the nearest building. Presses himself flat against the wall and listens, breath stilled in his chest, as the footfalls draw nearer. No voices, no laughter; only the unmistakable  _ thud _ of boots on the ground, several of them and all in unison. 

He doesn’t need to peek to know what they are.  _ Glaives,  _ about three of them from the sound of it, marching closer to his position. They haven’t spotted him - not yet - but it’s a risk he’s going to have to take. With practiced stealth he pulls his camera from the pocket of his jacket. Lowers it to his side and readies his finger on the shutter button. Counts silently in time with each trembling breath, focus trained on the steps of the approaching soldiers. 

_ Two...three...four….  _ He releases the air from his lungs as his finger squeezes down on the button. There’s no click, no flash. But he knows he’s gotten the shot, and that’s enough. His own sneakers carry him back through the shadows, over a fence he’s jumped more times than he can remember, and into the narrow alleys that will lead him, with any luck, all the way to Gladio’s house.

* * *

The window’s shut when he arrives, but not locked. Gladio’s way of ‘keeping a light on’ for him, he explained once, though Prompto’s pretty sure he says that to all the revolutionaries who have a penchant for sneaking into his bedroom at night. A glance over each shoulder confirms he hasn’t been followed, then he’s lifting up the pane and slipping inside before he misses his chance. 

Like everywhere else in the city, the house is completely dark, at least to the untrained eye. But Prompto knows better. Knows exactly how many steps until he reaches the hallway, and where to feel along the wall for the right doorknob. Just how far to turn it to avoid tripping the alarm system, which he himself designed because none of them can be too careful.  

“ _ Psst _ ,” he whispers into the darkness beyond the door. Only silence greets him. “Gladdy, it’s me.” 

“ _ Six, _ Prom!” 

From inside the room a lamp flares to life, illuminating Gladio’s broad shoulders, powerful arms, and the baseball bat he’s got brandished between them. With a sigh he lowers the weapon the floor again, and casts Prompto an exasperated look. “You couldn’t call?” 

“Dude - were you gonna hit me with that?” 

“You’re lucky I’m not the type to swing first and ask questions later.” His hard amber eyes soften as Prompto steps into the room, and he catches sight of his dirty sneakers, his light jacket, the camera peeking out of the side. “You shoulda called. It’s not safe out there alone.” 

The blond shrugs. As if he doesn’t know that already. “It’s cloudy out, perfect weather for a little recon. Couldn’t exactly turn down the chance for some shots like these,” he grins, and tosses Gladio the memory card from his camera. “Think you’re up for some work tonight?” 

A pause. Gladio stares down at the memory card, then rakes his gaze back up the length of Prompto’s body, bringing his eyes to rest somewhere in the vicinity of that nervous smile. Slowly, he nods. “Always.”

* * *

He keeps the computer in the basement. It’s an ancient machine, almost as old as Prompto’s LOKTON, but it might just be the only one left intact in the entire city. It had belonged to Clarus, Gladio’s father, and still contains the thousands of files that got downloaded automatically from the Citadel’s database in the hours after the Fall. 

They’re mostly encrypted, of course, and so far the ones Prompto has managed to crack haven’t amounted to much. But Gladio’s convinced there’s something, somewhere in the millions of lines of code there, that’s going to turn the tides of battle. 

Which is why, while Gladio fiddles with the broken card slot, Prompto sets to task at the keyboard. The keys clack rhythmically under his fingers, soothing, familiar. He sinks back into the chair while he works.

“So. Heard anything from Iggy this week?” 

Beside him, Gladio lets out a dry laugh. “You kidding? He’s worse than you about calling.” 

“Heh, yeah. But I guess no news is good news, right?” He glances over, intending to shoot Gladio his most reassuring smile, but instead finds amber eyes fixed on him. Serious, dark beneath knotted brows. Prompto swallows back the sudden lump in his throat. “...What?”

“I’ve been worried about you, y’know.” 

“Me? Why would you be…?” He stops himself, shakes his head quickly. “I’m fine, dude. Really. No worse off than anybody else around here.” 

The monitor buzzes and the processor hums in the silence between them. Gladio inches closer, those full lips twitching as he searches for the right words. “Prom, when I heard about your parents--” 

“I said I’m  _ fine. _ ” 

He doesn’t mean to snap. Really. That…. None of what happened wasn’t Gladio’s fault. There’s nothing anyone could have done, and telling himself that at least fifty times a day has saved him a shit ton on therapy. All of them have lost someone; some of them have lost everyone. That’s just the way things are these days. 

Still, Gladio hasn’t pulled away. Though his gaze drops to Prompto’s lap, his lips are set in a firm, unyielding line before him. “I don’t like knowing you’re all alone in that house.” 

_ His heart thuds.  _ “Just...one more reason to keep fighting the good fight.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Yeah, well. Really, I’m fi-”

“Stop saying you’re fine, Prompto!” comes the shout that may as well be a slap right across his burning face. “You haven’t called, you haven’t sent word. You show up tonight out of nowhere with, what? One blurry photo of a sidewalk that you could have  _ been killed _ to get?” 

Tears, hot and bitter, sting at his eyes, but he refuses to blink them away. “You think I’m an idiot.” 

“I  _ think _ ,” Gladio sighs, throwing his hands up only to bring them back down to grip either side of the chair Prompto is sitting in. “That you’re punishing yourself, and it’s breaking my heart.” 

This time, Prompto does blink. Fast and desperate, trying to focus on the face moving rapidly into his field of vision. 

“You don’t think we all worry about it?” Gladio’s right hand slides up to his hip, his left moving further up to brush along his shoulder. “That I don’t stay awake at night because what I’m doing - what  _ we’re all doing together  _ \- puts Iris at risk, too?” 

“...Gladio.” 

“I’ve seen it happen, over and over every time I fall asleep. They come, they take her away. It’s my fault.” His gaze is darkening, not with anger but with a pain that echoes in the hollow of Prompto’s chest, as well. “But that doesn’t mean I can give up. Or get  _ reckless.  _ It means that now, more than ever, we’ve got to trust each other and win this fucking fight. We gotta protect the ones who are left.”

He’s crying now, unable to hold them back despite how hard he tries. It’s as if Gladio’s hands on him have unlocked the gates, and his words have torn them right from their hinges. Warmth surrounds him suddenly - it’s the first hug he’s been given in far too long - and his hands scramble for purchase in the fabric of a dark tank top as the tears fall, fall,  _ fall.  _

Somewhere in the mess of it, he feels Gladio’s lips on his skin. Not demanding, not insistent, but he reacts to them anyway. Turns into the touch until their mouths connect, a kiss born of the loneliness, the fear, the loss they share. It’s far from perfect, and ends far too quickly. But in its wake, Prompto finds himself gazing up into the depths of familiar amber eyes and forgetting, at least for those few heartbeats, all about the darkness in the world. 

“Stay here,” Gladio offers, his thumb wiping away the wetness from one freckled cheek. “Stay with me. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” 

**Author's Note:**

> work in progress i have no idea what i'm doing sorry


End file.
